


To: All the Punk Ass Fucks

by Calesvol



Series: WIPs [2]
Category: Spider-Gwen (Comics), Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Venom (Comics)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Healing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Polyamory, Reconciliation, Redemption, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 11:03:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18690196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calesvol/pseuds/Calesvol
Summary: There is, and always will be, a connection. (Sequel to To: All the High Class Ass)





	To: All the Punk Ass Fucks

Warning(s): M, none

* * *

His sleep had been as peaceful as it could be, given the circumstances. For all that had happened in the past few weeks, he wished he could’ve simply stayed asleep with the two symbiotes he rested with, cradled in his arms, and they would remain with him like nothing was wrong. Instead of an alarm, Peter awoke to the gentle prodding of Toxin and Venom seeming to urge him awake. Brown eyes cracked open and the man yawned hugely, surprised at how undisturbed his sleep had been. Just a little while ago had it felt like his new bonding with Venom had thrown a wrench in that, still feeling the pit of jealousy ready to rear its ugly head at the slightest insistence.

 **Didn’t wake up at all last night, Petey. You’re doing better,** Venom praised with a nuzzle to Peter’s cheek, a humming purr audible. Toxin crooned in seeming agreement, nudging its cherry red form against Peter’s nose which caused it to wrinkle some from the sensation.

Rolling on to his back while both symbiotes clustered together on his chest, Peter propped his arms behind his head and looked contemplative in the early morning glow. He’d been thinking about it, but Brock’s situation didn’t weigh on him well, at all. Even though they’d been warring for what seemed like years, Eddie had never seemed like a totally hopeless case to him. Before, much like his contention with Venom, that bitterness had come from a place of misunderstanding. Of Peter misunderstanding what Venom really was, refusing to learn what it was really about. This seemed no different. 

“I want to help him,” Peter thought aloud, Venom knowing who he was speaking of through their bond. “I mean—I never really have before. I kinda...regarded him the same way I did you, V. Just...not trying to really understand him. You guys were trying to do good before it fell apart, right?” Chestnut eyes glanced down at those opalescent ones, Venom lost in thought. 

 **Eddie...never a bad person. Sometimes, yes, when we used to be villains. But, then tried to be heroes. Just didn’t have the right moral compass, remember?** Yeah, he remembered that much, alright. When Eddie had possessed a painfully black and white perspective that tried to do good at the cost of killing those even with the smallest infractions, like being drug addicts and other non-violent crimes. As the scientist he was and the vigilante he’d been since high school, things tended to be a lot more complex than just super-villains threatening to blow up Long Island with some souped up ray gun, or whatever. 

Swinging his legs over the bed, Toxin rolled quickly to perch on Peter’s shoulder. Venom retreated back inside his body, then remembering the temporary fish tank he’d procured to place Toxin inside, the symbiote whining softly despite Peter’s soft assurances. “Hey, it’ll be alright, promise. I just have to take a shower and then I’ll be right back.” That quieted the worst of the whining, Venom emerging again to croon soothingly at the infant. 

 **Needs a host, Petey. Won’t be able to survive for much longer without,** Venom warned just after Peter as disrobed and stepped into the warm spray of the shower, sliding the plain shower curtain behind him. 

Venom was right. Problem was, who would bee willing to undertake such a task? Though the number of people who had adopted symbiotes and bonded with them in the past was surprisingly high, in this case, he couldn’t just allow anyone to take Toxin as their own. Hosts and symbiotes were in a constant feedback loop and flux with the symbiotes themselves often mirroring and exaggerating the qualities of the host—as Venom had proven aptly before in the past. And with Toxin so young, not only would it have to be a voluntary bonding, but it also had to be with someone he trusted. Andrea Benton and Flash already had symbiotes of their own, and in his small circle of friends, he didn’t know who else might be willing. 

And if he did, well—that would be two things on his plate regarding the symbiotes. Not just his wish to bring Eddie back down to earth and do something good between them for a change. But also finding Toxin someone suitable to shack up with. Guiltily, he reflected on how, in the past, he would’ve sooner found someone who could’ve eliminated Toxin and been done with it. 

As soon as he was finished showering did Peter twist the dial off and toweled himself dry, then changing into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt before dabbing his hair with mousse and leaving that to air dry. It had been a short shower, but a jolt of urgency left him abandoning the bathroom when he heard Toxin anxiously keening that brought him immediately to his bedroom where that tank was, dipping his hand inside as Venom manifested to curl about and bring Toxin to be cradled closely.

Peter sighed softly, knowing that it really wasn’t much trouble to keep Toxin with him, understanding well enough that its confinement at Alchemax had left it with a bevy of unpleasant memories. Some that likely still traumatized the young symbiote. Regardless, he needed to find Toxin a new host, and soon. 

 **Gwen.**  

This caused Peter to stop short. “Gwen?” Peering curiously at Venom who rounded his shoulders, that serpentine head smiled broadly. The Gwen Venom was referring to was the Gwen of Earth-65, if he remembered correctly. Not the one who’d died years ago, she was an arachnid vigilante like him in college for Biochemistry who went by the name of Ghost Spider.

 **Gwen!** Venom repeated enthusiastically with a switching appendage, like an eager hound. **Bonded with her before. Nice and understood us. Be good match for Toxin.**  

Venom did have a point. Even if Gwen wasn’t the one he knew here, she’d been staying in his world more and more frequently between hers and his. “I mean, even if she’d be a good choice, I can’t force her to do it, V. But...I won’t count her out. We’ll talk to her, promise.”

* * *

Hours later, Toxin having learned to coil and cling to his bicep for the sake of concealment beneath his hoodie, Peter was en route for Ravencroft Institute in Westchester County just a few hours away from Manhattan. The green countryside rolled idly by on the small, nearly deserted highways that seemed like an immensely far cry from the bustle and roil of the inner city. Nose buried in a book, he’d brought with him an ample amount of beef jerky for Toxin to snack on and other such foods for himself, but still didn’t quite focus on what he was reading. 

This wouldn’t be easy, he knew. Eddie and he had never had an easy relationship, even though there had been stints in time when the older man had not only voluntarily worked with him, but sometimes could even pass as something leaning into an acquaintanceship. While they were often enemies, it was in those brighter pockets of opportunity he believed the shot at Brock’s redemption lay. He wanted to think something better might exist than some lifetime of enmity.

It would only be another hour or so before Peter got off the bus at the bus platform within the sleepy little township, Westchester proper at the heart of the county and exactly where the institution was. Despite the location of what this town possessed, even he had to admit that the surrounding locale was rather beautiful. A place he could see himself going to get away if the urge ever struck him. Or better, if the availability ever did since that seemed like a rarity on the best of days.

Once they came to Ravencroft’s campus proper, even Peter was taken aback by how ominous the place seemed. “This really the place where people are supposed to go to _recover_? Seems like it’d do the opposite,” Peter remarked sourly as he strode towards the imposing and stately entrance that reminded him of turn-of-the-century architecture common with many mental asylums back in the day. 

At the receptionist desk was Peter able to sign in on the guest list, finding it strange to hear himself referred to as Doctor, but took it in stride. Having that often made it easier to gain entry to places such as these, after all. It was when he attained a visitor’s badge that he was taken into the real belly of the beast, seeming more like Alcatraz than a mental asylum. Then again, considering it was supposed to be for the _criminally_ insane, maybe that shouldn’t have surprised him so much. 

“This way, Dr. Parker,” a friendly enough security guard directed him, ushering him into a relatively spacious room with several partitioned booths way appeared to be two-way call booths like those that were used in the prisons. The glass itself, Peter noted, was bullet-proof and probably bore thickness greater than that of the norm. When he made way to the worn plastic chair, even he couldn’t help but tense at the bowed head of Eddie Brock. 

The blond wore his hair shorter than he remembered, meaty hands clasped together and held fast by dauntless handcuffs. A thick, scruffy beard grew along the square of his jaw and made him appear more menacing if that was even possible. Peter felt Venom coil uncertainly in his breast, twisted by longing and betrayal alike at seeing its old host again. In reaction, part of him wanted to take the flimsy plastic chair and somehow bust it through the glass and beat Brock black and blue for what he’d done to Venom, but he willed the undercurrents of rage to soothe into something resembling civility.

Yet, even he could see how hateful his gaze appeared in his reflection on the glass. 

A small, unseen device in his fingertip disabled the audio recording with a brief spark, Peter holding down the button to allow them to speak without being recorded. Eddie didn’t seem to notice, hard blue eyes warily considering him both with curiosity and resentment.

“You shouldn’t have that _thing_ inside of you, Parker. It’ll mess you up the same way it did me,” Eddie began gravely, Peter struggling to hide how much his hackles raised at that alone in rage, flashes of thought of him holding a fistful of Eddie’s prisoner jumper in his hand and bludgeoning Brock unconscious with the other— 

“That’s not what I’m here to talk about, Brock,” Peter bristled immediately, willing that sting of jealousy and possessiveness down. “You’re not like these other guys. I think you could turn around if you wanted. In fact, in spite of our checkered past, I think you could. And I’d be willing to help with that.” 

Brock scoffed mirthlessly. “Why now? I thought you liked it better when all of your rogue gallery were behind bars or in places like this,” Eddie replied dourly, even though it seemed like the hardness in his gaze was softening some. 

“Maybe I’m just tired of fighting all the time, Brock. We’re not Tom and Jerry going through the same motions over and over. We’ve teamed up before in the past, and yeah—you had a crappy-at-best moral compass, but you’ve been trying to become a good guy. I couldn’t see it all that well from my moral high ground. Even if the view isn’t too shabby.” Peter quirked a wry, sparing smile at that. 

The blond seemed more taken aback than anything, wrestling between wanting to trust and wanting to retreat and flip his arch-nemesis off. Burly hands clasped hard together; beneath a shelf-like, bushy brow did he finally concede some answer he was looking for. 

“I’m not here because of you, Parker,” Eddie said finally, sighing some. “What, you think I’m not aware of how messed up I am? Yeah, I am trying to change! Not because you graced me with your presence, but because I still have a life left to live. There’s someone I want to shape it up for, and the person sure as hell isn’t you!” 

At that, after a pregnant pause of silence did Peter smirk rather openly. “Not even in the dedication of your sob story biography? Eddie, babe, you’re killing me over here,” he couldn’t help but tease, earning a stale glower from the man in question. Peter sobered in the moment, regarding Eddie seriously. “So, basically what you’re saying is you want to rot in here?”

“Not rot,” Eddie gestured vaguely, “but...take things one step at a time. Get the worst of what’s wrong with me figured out, and once I improve enough, be transferred down the line. Keep going until I’m in the sunshine again.” 

“There’s no guarantee that they’d just rehabilitate you with the rest of society. Even if you did get stabilized enough, with everything you’ve done, all the murders you’ve committed, that would probably just land you in some normal prison for the rest of your life,” Peter reminded him poignantly. 

“I have to try. I told you, I’m not doing this for you, I’m not even doing it for me.” Though Eddie could’ve easily become violent at what Peter said, he found himself somewhat amazed at whatever was happening here. Maybe Ravencroft had a success story on their hands. 

“You’re doing it for Dylan.”

Brock froze the moment Peter said that, a hint of vulnerability passing on his features before it broke into a fissure of barely contained defensive rage. “Parker. Where did you—“ 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Peter said dismissively, expression hard. “We’re in the same profession, remember? And I’m not the kind of guy that would put a kid in danger, you know that.” There were so many hurtles they had to get over. It wasn’t just Eddie that had a chip in his shoulder; Peter had one too many, but here and now was the opportunity to end it. “I get it. I just...had to know. Make sure there weren’t any liabilities. Because you know, the closer you get to redemption, the closer the other guys will think you’re cozying up to to me. I don’t want anyone’s kid caught in the crossfire, even if I do hate your guts.” 

Eddie sniffed disdainfully, but the initial anger from before seemed to have quelled. “Don’t think this means I’m going to kiss your boots in gratitude, Parker.” 

“Thanks, but that would traumatize my poor boots, so no thanks.” 

At what seemed to be a strange impasse, both men knew their time was drawing to a close. “If you really want to help, I guess you deserve to know—I still haven’t forgiven you for back then. With my job with the Daily Globe or what happened to Anne. Even if it technically wasn’t your fault.” 

Peter was blindsided by the confession, it not even having really occurred to him. All this time, he’d known that. That yes, it hadn’t been his fault, even if Eddie blamed him as being personally culpable for his downfall. It had been enough to begin his time as a career criminal, which had been but one of many offenses. Not even including the many years of fierce contention between them. 

“So...is this it?” Eddie gazed at him speculatively, expectant. “Are we at a new bridge? Does this mean we’re finally going to try and kiss and make up? Are you going to let me help you?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie admitted honestly. “I already told you my plan. And it sure as hell doesn’t involve you much, if at all.”

“But can you wait that long? You’ve already missed enough of your son’s life. Can you really afford to miss any more?” Peter challenged, which seemed to broker some reaction from the older man. “I might be able to get you out faster.” 

Part of Peter couldn’t believe that this was even happening. That he and one of his longest time enemies were finally reconciling to some extent. Did this call for an _actual_ kiss and make-up? Regardless, it was something. Something that was finally some light through the darkness. And it was enough, for a rough beginning. 

“...For him. Only for him,” Eddie agreed, mouth pursed in a thin line. 

And that was good enough of an answer, as far as Peter was concerned.


End file.
